


The Nature of My Game

by nomelon



Series: The Nature of My Game [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Dark, F/M, Hunting, One Night Stand, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-25
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU fic where Jo has lived a very different life, and then she meets John Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of My Game

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the splendiferous missyjack. Thank you kindly, m'dear!
> 
> Dedication: for dreamlittleyo who bought me in help_haiti, asking for _John/Jo, discovery_, and then had to wait all this time for a result. You are both generous and patient, and I hope that this fic in some small way floats your boat. And that other fic I owe you will be with you soon. Um, at some point.

It wasn't that Jo didn't know hunters existed. Considering the circles she'd moved in over the last couple of years, she supposed it was inevitable that she'd heard things. Stories of bad things happening to good people; news reports where she had to read between the lines; unlikely sounding myths and legends passed down from god only knew where about paths crossed in the dead of night, battles won and lost, always more hearsay than fact. She knew that hunters were out there, it was just that she'd never met one in the flesh before.

John was everything and nothing like what she'd been expecting.

As was the dead body on the floor of the apartment.

John was a heavy presence at her shoulder as she stared down at the dead girl sprawled out at their feet. Jo's chest wouldn't work properly and she was desperately craving a cigarette, something she hadn't really wanted since she was fifteen: dumb enough to think she was invincible and naive enough to think that her mom would never find out.

"You killed her."

"Yes," he said simply, the sound of his voice making her skin prickle. "Now I want you to listen to me very carefully." He spoke without even a hint of a threat, calm and sure of himself, which made her think that this was something he'd done before. This was something he was used to. "It was a vampire. You saw it."

Jo shook her head. She wasn't even supposed to be there; this wasn't something she was supposed to be a part of.

"No," she said, though it was stupid to try and deny it. "No, Lenore worked with me. Waiting tables. She was just a girl."

It was dark and the bulb above their heads was smashed. The only light came from the streetlights outside, casting a dim glow on the room through the high windows along one wall of the basement apartment. Jo's eyes were playing tricks on her in the dark, grey dancing on black, and she kept expecting Lenore to move, for it all to be a bad dream, but Lenore's head wasn't even attached to her body. It just didn't compute. There was blood in her hair and all over her pretty dress and, god, her _head_.

Lenore was never going to move again.

John got down on one knee, moving smoothly, and pushed up Lenore's top lip with his thumb, exposing a row of jagged, misshapen teeth that had no business in a human mouth. "It was a vampire," he said again. "And yes, I killed it. Now, I want you to pull yourself together and we're going to walk out of here, nice and easy."

There was a certain relief in having someone tell her what to do, easily morphing the whole fucked up situation from an unnameable mass of horror and disbelief into a simple problem that needed to be handled; a series of tasks that had to be performed for life to get back on track and for tonight to be left behind in the dark where it belonged.

If only it were that easy.

She let him herd her out of the apartment, along the narrow hallway, up the stairs, and out into the world beyond. The night was cold and fresh as it filled her lungs and nipped at her cheeks.

"You going to be okay?" he asked, like maybe some tiny part of him really cared about the answer.

Jo nodded, pulling her thin jacket tighter around herself.

His truck was parked nearby: a big, black, shiny thing just made for eating up miles of highway. The waxing moon, hanging heavy and ripe over their heads, was a distorted reflection on its paintwork. John's keys were in his hand and he was going to go. He was actually going to drive away and leave her with all of this, like it had never happened, like she hadn't just seen him do those things, like her life hadn't just been flipped upside down.

"Let me buy you dinner," she heard herself say. It sounded strange in her mouth and she couldn't be sure he'd go for it -- dinner was a normal thing that normal people did -- but everybody had to eat, and it was the first thing she'd been able to think of to get him to stay. She shrugged. "Like maybe I owe you. And I can't just... I don't know. I can't just let you walk away, you know? You don't get to just walk away and not explain things."

"Things?"

"There are other vampires, right? I'm guessing she wasn't the only one. You have to tell me more. You have to tell me how you know this stuff."

He hesitated, glancing at his truck. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

She couldn't imagine how he saw her. He was a stranger, twice her age, and she'd just seen him kill a vampire. She'd just seen him kill her friend. There was nothing about this evening that made sense to her and no way she was going to let him just disappear.

John opened the door of the truck, took a few things from the pockets of his bloodied jacket, and then stuffed it into a heavyweight plastic bag in the back. He grabbed a clean jacket from the backseat and refilled his pockets. He checked his hands under the light, paying particular attention to his nails, and was apparently satisfied with what he saw.

"Do they have to be invited in?"

He slammed the door and turned to face her. His eyes were narrowed and he looked almost disapproving. "You do know that this isn't a movie, right?"

"Got it." She pushed her fists into the pockets of her jacket. "I'm all over it."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I like steak," he said. "And decent coffee."

Jo gave a short nod. "I know a place."

"Not where you work. You probably don't want people you know to see me with you."

She nodded again, but she hadn't planned on taking him anywhere that anybody knew her.

John drove, keeping under the limit and always coming to a complete stop at every stop sign. She stared out the window of his truck and counted streetlights, only speaking to give him directions. The all-night diner she took him to was mostly empty. They got a corner booth by the window with a good view over the parking lot and a clear line of sight to both exits.

Jo wondered if she could live her life like that. If it was something she should start doing.

John went to wash up while they waited for their food. Jo had ordered eggs and hash browns and was happy to let it go cold in front of her while he steadily ate his way through his steak and home fries. She couldn't deal with food. The way she felt it was possible she might never eat again.

"What am I supposed to do when they start asking questions? How am I supposed to explain this?"

John chewed slowly and swallowed his mouthful of steak, washing it down with some coffee before answering. "If anybody asks, you were never there."

"And if they figure out I'm lying?"

"They won't."

"But what if they do?"

He paused, cup in hand, and breathed deep. "If it comes to that, tell the truth. Easiest in the long run."

"Tell the truth like, gee whizz, officer. Turns out I've been working with a vampire for the past half a year and didn't know jack about it. Then this guy shows up and he k-- He--" Her breath was coming too quickly and she couldn't look at him, scowling instead out past her reflection in the window and just trying to hold it all together.

"You tell them you got there and there was a freak with a knife in the hallway causing trouble," he said, using that calm, steady voice again. The one that made her throat ache and her fingertips itch, but that she still grabbed onto like a lifeline, letting his words wash over her, letting them do their job. "He kicked the door in and things got ugly. You panicked and ran. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances." He sipped his coffee. "Keep as close to the truth as you can."

Jo picked up her unused knife in her fist and pressed the dull tip of it hard against her cheap paper napkin, watching closely as the paper twisted and tore. "You sound like you're used to this."

"I've been around the block a couple of times."

"What did she do?"

"Do?"

"Yeah. I mean, she was a nice girl, you know? Like, I get it. I believe what you're telling me, but still. I just can't see her..." She trailed off, because there was no way to finish that sentence. No way to even try and make Lenore sound like a monster.

"It was a--"

"She," Jo interrupted, looking up. "Her name was Lenore."

John looked at her steadily, not giving her any clue as to what he was thinking. "She was a vampire," he said, making it sound like it was all the explanation he needed. Jo held his gaze steadily until he sighed and rubbed at his beard. It made him look older. "I thought they were a myth. Or at least extinct. I don't know enough about them to tell you why she'd be trying to pass as human. The lore says they usually live in nests. Maybe she had better luck hiding what she was alone. I don't know."

"You think she'd been killing people? Feeding on them?"

"There'd been some deaths in the area since she moved here about a year back. Vampire's MO. Messy. Bloodier than usual. Usually in small clusters of three or four. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. I figured maybe she was having trouble controlling it. Like she'd last it out a month or so, and then get desperate and go nuts for a couple of days before she could get it under control again."

"Is that how it works?"

"Like I said, I didn't have much to go on." He shrugged and drained his cup.

"So that's why you're here? That's how you knew? Somebody died?"

"Not in the last six months or so. But it was only a matter of time."

Jo nodded absently and realised she'd been tapping her knife off the table: a quick staccato beat. She set it down, lined up perfectly with the edge of the table, and toyed instead with the key she wore on a chain around her neck. "You like it, huh? The hunt."

There was a long pause. "It's my job," he said quietly.

"I bet the pay's lousy."

"Yeah, but I get really great dental."

She smiled in spite of herself, not meeting his eye, surprised that he'd made a joke. "It's more than that, though. Isn't it?"

He sat back as the waitress appeared to refill their cups. He nodded his thanks and leaned forward again, cradling his cup in both hands. His eyes were on the reflection of the diner in the window as he sipped at his fresh coffee. There was a lot he wasn't saying, but Jo figured that maybe she shouldn't push him.

Everybody was entitled to their secrets.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking their coffee. A father and his young son at the far side of the diner finished their meal and left, the father nodding and smiling as his son talked about something between yawns, his eyelids drooping, a contented smile on his face.

Jo watched John watch them, his face carefully blank.

"Salt," he said, not taking his eyes off the father and son.

She nudged the cellar over to his side of the table.

"No. For protection. You line your doors and windows with it. Iron is a good weapon. Sometimes silver. Fire can work too. It depends. There are certain symbols that can help. I can point you towards some books you should read. The best thing you can possibly do is not go looking for trouble, but there are--" He took a short breath. "Things. Out there. That you should maybe know about."

"Okay," she said. "That would be good."

The bell over the door jangled as the father and his son disappeared out into the night.

John's knee was warm against hers under the table. He hadn't jerked away when she'd sat down and they'd touched. That had to mean something. She wondered if it was enough; if he was planning on making a move or if the glimpses of gentleman she'd caught under that rough exterior would win out.

When they were done eating, Jo's food still untouched, he picked up the check without a word even though she had money in her hand to pay. Outside, standing by his truck, she took the decision out of his hands, touching his arm with her fingertips and looking at the motel right across the street with a neon sign in the window telling the world that they had vacancies -- the reason she'd chosen this diner in the first place.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She kept her touch light on his arm. There was heat in the way he was looking at her; his body language betraying all the things he wasn't saying, torn between swaying closer to her and holding himself very still.

"Is this the part where you tell me you're too old for me?" she asked. "That I'm not thinking clearly right now? That I don't owe you anything?"

"You don't. Owe me anything, I mean."

She squeezed his arm and let go. "You sure about that?"

She started walking, and a few seconds later, she heard his footsteps following behind.

The room they got was basic and smelled faintly like air freshener and mothballs, but it was warm and the door locked solidly behind them. John flipped on the light, shouldered off his jacket and tossed it onto the room's only chair, and stood in the middle of the room, his hands loose at his sides, just looking at her.

She walked slowly towards him, ignoring the nervous tremble low in her belly, pulling at the cuffs of her jacket until it slid down her arms and fell to the floor behind her. When he touched her, his palm to her cheek, she took a shaky breath. His skin was rough but his touch gentle, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, handling like she was something precious, something that might break.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Jo."

"Joanne?"

Jo shook her head. "Joanna Beth. But only my mom calls me that."

"Joanna Beth," he said. "I'm John." He lowered his head, his eyes heavy and dark, both hands on her face now, but he didn't close the distance between them to kiss her. It made her a little dizzy, the heat coming off his skin, the coffee she could taste on his breath, the way he was touching her. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but under the circumstances--"

She rose up onto her tiptoes, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, and pulled him closer. They stopped just short of kissing, mouths open, torturing each other with the closeness, breathing each other's air.

"I'm guessing you don't do this a lot."

He smiled ruefully. "This is the most I've even talked to anyone in months."

She didn't recognise the small sound of frustration and want she made right before she pulled him down that last inch and kissed him. John kissed like he meant it, angling her face the way he wanted it, his mouth hungry and wet. Jo gave as good as she got, standing on her tiptoes, biting at his lips, and found she liked it a little too much when he groaned and snaked an arm around her waist to pull her tighter against him.

She felt tiny against him, like he was a rock she could break herself on. She shivered despite the warmth of the room, her skin erupting in goose-flesh when he lifted her shirt over her head and she kicked off her jeans, tripping over them as they landed on the bed together. John was a warm, solid weight above her, still dressed while she was half naked and reaching up for him with her whole body, craving his mouth and the rough brush of his hands over her skin. He kissed her neck, her belly, bit at the line of her hips. His beard scratched and tickled the inside of her thighs as he peeled down her panties. She'd never even kissed a guy with a beard before, let alone had him between her legs. The first touch of his mouth was a shock that made her gasp and arch up off the sheets. He teased her with his tongue and fingers until she was keening for it, her hands twisting the rough sheets, her heels kicking dully at him, lifting her hips and silently asking for more.

He crawled back up her body, only smiling when she pulled him in to kiss her again. She struggled with his buttons, trying to push his shirt off his shoulders and undo his fly at the same time, needing his skin, needing more than he was giving her with his teasing touches. He felt huge and hot against her thigh, nudging up against her. She tilted her hips, rocking back and forth, not taking him inside, not yet, just getting him wet and slippery, making him drop his head to her shoulder and groan his want against her skin. She scratched her nails down his back, hard enough to make him grunt and rear back, his hips nudging forward so that he slipped inside. He grabbed her wrists and held them over her head in one hand, in control now, rocking into her slowly inch by inch until he was in as deep as he could go, his arms trembling as he held himself still above her.

She strained up against him, giving him hard, biting kisses, urging him on, rising to meet him as he moved inside her. She wanted it just like that, his weight above her, holding her down, wanted him hard and fast and dirty, their skin slippery with sweat; her stomach and thigh muscles warm and singing as she moved with him.

Her teeth were at his shoulder when he came, his rough thumb on her clit enough to make her shudder and cry out as he dragged her over the edge with him. She bit down hard enough to break the skin, shocking herself with the fierceness of it, the taste of copper pennies faint on her tongue. John growled and shrugged her off, but didn't lift his head from her shoulder, doing little more than brushing his fingers over her mouth then rolling off her to lie at her side, the two of them breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling.

"Was this a thank you?" he asked, sounding rough-edged and fucked out.

"No," she said, licking the taste of what they'd done together from her lips. "I only wanted to buy you dinner. This came after."

He turned on his side to look at her, and smiled, the crow's feet around his eye emphasised by the press of the pillow. "Play your cards right, I might let you buy me breakfast instead."

Jo wondered what it would mean if she let herself believe it was a beginning.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep, for his breathing to even out and his eyes to roll under closed lids.

She got dressed in silence, her knees weak, her muscles warm and used. She got caught up in looking at him, just standing in the middle of the room with her shoes in her hand. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, but peaceful in sleep.

She stood there for a long time, just watching him.

 

\---

 

Lenore was still lying exactly in exactly the same spot on the floor of the apartment.

Jo couldn't look at her, although she caught glimpses in her peripheral vision. She grabbed a few essentials: keys, wallet, anything that could identify her, and also the bag that Lenore had told her to keep packed and at the ready. Jo had always laughed, telling her that no one was coming for them. Telling her they were safe here.

She crouched down, close as she dared, and touched the hem of Lenore's dress, wishing she was brave enough to kiss her mouth one last time. She could smell Lenore's perfume. It made her think of cool spring evenings and how soft Lenore's skin was, how she was so ticklish, and the way she'd laugh when Jo trailed fingertips over her thighs and kissed the backs of her knees.

Jo's throat burned and her vision blurred. She closed her hand on the key that hung around her neck, the one Lenore had given her, and she thought of the cage in the tiny back room, hidden behind the bookcase, and the sanctuary it had brought her for the last six months every time the moon was full.

Jo had three weeks left until she hit twenty-five. Lenore had been planning something but had refused to let Jo in on the big secret. The thought of hitting the quarter century had twisted her gut with nostalgia for her disappearing childhood and the life she was pretty sure she was never going to get to live. She'd known Lenore for almost seven months. No time at all, but it had felt like forever. Lenore was the one who had saved her. She was the one who had explained there was a better way.

Jo thought of John's sleeping face, and guilt lay cold as a stone in the pit of her stomach.

It was done now. No turning back. Lenore would never have approved. But Lenore was dead -- left with no one to remember her, no one who understood -- and Jo was alone again.

 

\---

 

Dawn was breaking when Jo hit the I-40 and joined the sparse early morning traffic heading east. She turned on the radio and cranked it up loud enough that she didn't have to think. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag and realised that she'd taken Lenore's: the cute black ones with the ladybug on the frame. It helped a little when she put them on and everything dimmed; a world in mourning.

The road stretched out before her as she put her foot to the floor and drove towards the rising sun.

**Author's Note:**

> <http://nomelon.livejournal.com/179393.html>


End file.
